


The Effort of Love

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"While we are free to choose our actions, we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions." S.R.Covey<br/>Set during episode 206 (after the zucchini man fiasco</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Effort of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally post on my livejournal in 2011  
> Some dialogue taken directly from the show

BRIAN’S POV  
  
       Justin’s long-suffering sigh and withering look informs me that I gave the wrong answer. Again.  
  
      Like a jabbering flock of birds flying to fuck knows where, his sigh passes, leaving behind an absolute stillness ominous as an approaching summer storm. This isn’t going to be easy. It never is with him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand at attention, waiting for my hand to swat them down. They know the drill. They’ve been through this before.  
  
     Did you know a hammering heart has a particular rhythm? It does. It’s a subtle beat that creates an atmosphere all its own, whispering mysterious warnings to your soul to let you know something’s up. And right now, it’s not whispering. It’s screaming. I’ve experienced this sensation more in the short time I’ve known him than in my entire life.  
  
      He pirouettes to face me, mano-a-mano, straw-colored hair flapping in frustration, and that beat isn’t so subtle any more. It's thumping through every pore to tell me that just like Harold Hill in Meredith Wilson’s _The Music Man_ , I got trouble, my friends, right here in Justin City, trouble with a capital T. It’s not a coincidence that the _T_ in trouble goes hand in hand with the _T_ in Taylor.  
  
      It’s also not a coincidence that I want to fuck him senseless during times like this. Yeah, I know, when don’t I want to fuck him. I have no excuse, other than he has the ability to short-circuit my higher brain function, cut off rational thought, and transfer power to my dick. He just.... Fuck! I don’t know why, okay?  
  
      He pins me with two lasers that slice through flesh and bone. I don’t like it. Never did. It makes me uncomfortable, makes me want to turn away.  
  
_“I thought I knew you. Where did you go? I thought I knew you. What did I know?”_ _©Lennon/McCartney_  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
                                               _ “Cause what you don’t understand is I’d catch a grenade for you,_  
_Go through all this pain for you. You know I’d do anything for you.”_ _©B.Mars_  
  
      He’s doing it again, pushing me away. He thinks if he belittles me enough, embarrasses me enough like last night, he’ll wear me down and I’ll leave, that I’ll want to leave. Fat chance, Mr. Kinney! You have no fucking idea who you’re up against.  
  
      It’s not easy. I’m struggling with every emotion I want to fling at him—anger, hurt, betrayal. They’re itching to get out. But I won’t let them. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he won.  
  
      Everyone thinks I’m still the dreamy, wide-eyed kid with a crush on the guy who popped his cherry. I see their concerned looks, hear their whispers when they don’t think I’m watching or listening. They don’t have a clue.  
  
      I know more about him than any of his friends. They never made, never _make_ the effort to look below the surface. Sometimes I wish _I_ didn’t. I don’t always like what I see. It makes me doubt what he’s emotionally capable of feeling. That scares me, to think I could be fighting a losing battle, even after two years of understanding him like no one else _._  
  
      Brian’s like a pressure cooker. He keeps such a tight lid on himself that occasionally he has to release steam. Doesn't matter who’s in his path—unfortunately for me. I may be wrong, but I sense he’s relieved to be able to vent. Wishful thinking? Maybe. It wouldn’t be the first time. My entire relationship with him is based on wishful thinking.  
  
      When he lashes out, it’s usually out of fear or entrapment. Those traits are so repugnant to him that even thinking about them in the same sentence with his name runs the risk of incurring the wrath of gay and straight gods everywhere. I don't mean physical lashing, even though we, I mean unless I.... Okay, forget that. What I’m trying to say is that his demons won’t let him be physically abusive. Oh, he’ll cut you in half with sarcastic rhetoric, but his constant struggle to bury his father’s legacy overshadows anything else. I see it all the time.  
  
      I'll admit I've thought about waving the white flag in surrender, moving on like everyone says I should. But who am I kidding? No matter how hard, I won't give up. I just hope I have the energy to go another round because it’s tiring, you know?  
  
_“Chip away the stone. Make the burden lighter. Don't roll that rock alone."_ _©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_                                                             
  
BRIAN’S POV  
  
      I can fucking see his emotion. He thinks he can hide it. He can’t. I know him, all of him, inside and out. He’s pacing around the loft, restless, trying to figure out if I’m worth the effort. I hope I am. I can’t explain why I want him to stay. It’s different with him. I’m different with him.  
  
      He folds his arms in front of his chest like a barrier. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Why are you like this?” He scrubs a hand across his face and turns away, heaving another weary sigh.  
  
     “Doing what exactly? Care to give me a hint?” Not my best, but it’s all I have now.  
  
      He spins around, firing blue daggers that make me want to duck. “Don’t play dumb, Brian. I hate it when you play dumb. Besides, you don’t do it well.”  
  
      My modus operandi of mocking humor and cutting-edge wit to avoid conversations I don't want to have or rescue me from admittances I don't want to make never works with him. It annoys the fucking hell out of me, but I'm not sure why—why it doesn't work and why it annoys me. “I didn’t know I was trying to win an Academy Award.” Now I’m getting pissed. And I need a drink. I brush past him on my way to the bar. “I guess ole Larry Olivier’s reputation is still safe.”  
  
       I fill the glass with Beam and gulp half in one swallow. The burn slides down my throat, spreading its heat through my esophagus and into my stomach. Better. I chug the rest, pour a refill and wait.  
  
      The effect on him is electric. He spits out, “A _zucchini_ , Brian? A fucking zucchini? Please! What alternate universe are you living in? Can we come back to reality for a minute?””  
  
      He’s still smarting from yesterday—replaying every moment, from zucchini man in the supermarket to zucchini man in the loft, or more accurately, to seeing me fuck zucchini man in the loft. Shit! Now I’m a first grade, learn-to-read porno book or worse, an x-rated version of Clue.  
  
     “I haven’t heard any complaints from you, Sunshine, when you’re begging me to shove my ‘beautifully shaped hard dick’ up your ass.” I can’t help it. Sarcasm is a force of habit. But I’d never be able to convince him otherwise.  
  
      He pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “You give me a headache.”  
  
     “Join the club.” I don’t know what else to say and down more of the liquor, willing it to work its magic faster.  
  
      He gives me a half-hearted laugh and his unhappiness snaps some odd thing inside of me. Christ! When did my life become a fucking soap opera?  
  
       I slam my glass down, startled that my hand is shaking. “What the fuck do you want from me? We’re not—”  
  
JUSTIN’S POV  
  
      I jumped when his glass hit the bar, expecting it to shatter into a million pieces, but it didn’t. Neither do I. “Not what?” Although I want to fucking punch his lights out, I keep my voice level. “Not together? Not a couple? Don’t you think I know that? You drum it into my teeny weeny brain whenever you get a chance!” The level voice thing is harder than I thought. “I’m not _that_ stupid!”  
  
      He looks at me in disbelief. “I never said—”  
  
      The hell with playing nice. “You don’t have to! Yeah, you think I’m book smart but when it comes to things that really matter, like feelings or you and me, you don’t.” Fuck! I’m losing it.  
  
      I take a deep breath to settle myself. “You know, I could ask you the same question. What do _you_ want from me?”

                                                                                        *** * * ***

BRIAN’S POV  
                                                         _“Don’t you think it’s rather funny I should be in this position?_  
_ I’m the one who’s always been so calm, so cool, no lover’s fool,_  
_ Running every show. He scares me so.” ©A.L.Weber_  
  
      His control makes me uneasy. So does his question. What _do_ I want from him? How the fuck do I know? I haven’t given it much thought _or any_ thought. But there's no time to think about it because he’s speaking again.  
  
     “I get that you have to fuck around, Brian. I don’t like it, but I get it. It’s like ice cream.”  
  
      How the fuck did we go from vegetables to dairy products? Maybe the Beam is working after all. He does that little tilt of his head thing, the one when he’s concentrating. Brows come together, moist tongue peeks—  
  
     “Brian!”  
  
      Shit! The 'you-are-so-pissing-me-off' tone pierces my daydream like a gunshot. “What?” I feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  
  
     “Are you listening?”  
  
      His irritation barely registers. I have to force myself to focus because his defiant stance—hands on hips, foot tapping a staccato rhythm— goes straight to my cock. I have no excuse other than a craving for his ass. To diffuse the situation, I flash him my second best smile. The best one I save for fucking. “Do you know your eyes sparkle when you’re mad?”  
  
     “Arghh! I’m going to pretend you did not say that!” He tugs at a clump of hair and stomps to the kitchen.  
  
     “Get me a water while you’re there!” I yell to buy myself time to figure a way out of this.  
  
    _“Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.”_ _Oliver Hardy_  
  
      The deflection didn’t work. He returns in stony silence with one bottle, flips the cap, and starts to drink. I raise an eyebrow at him and the little shit wriggles his own back. Now it’s my turn to sigh. My patience hangs by a slim thread. I want this to be over so we can resume our regularly scheduled programming, so I can fuck his brains out. I can’t go through this every time I fuck someone. I _won’t_ go through it. I start to speak but true to form, he’s out of the gate first.  
  
     “We need to clear the air.”  
  
    “Hey, go right ahead,” I say breezily, the epitome of outward nonchalance. “I believe you were comparing fucking with ice cream?” Since I don’t have my water, I take another sip of Beam. I’ll remind him of this when he delivers another public service announcement about my drinking. Let him know he’s an enabler.

                                                                               [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/0003pgt0/)  
      He shoots me a look that makes my skin crawl and not in a positive, life-affirming way. Then....

     “You’re already an ass, Brian! You don’t have to prove it with your asinine comments!”

       Jesus! What the fuck! “Fine! Ok? Fine! The floor is yours, Mr. Taylor!”

 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

      Leave it to him to make this as hard as possible. By choice or design, he shuts down at the slightest reference to feelings. Words get twisted and sentences get misconstrued, all under the guise of lezzy bullshit.

      I'm too antsy to stand in one spot so I wander around the loft, his eyes glued to my every step, to figure what to say and how to say it. I come to a screeching halt and shake my head. When we’re this physically close, I can't gather my thoughts and speak intelligently. It's like collecting butterflies without a net. I look at him and my heart melts. God, I lo— No, damnit! Fuck! Why does he have to be so dysfunctional?

     “For your information, Mr. Kinney, I was not comparing fucking with ice cream, as you so crassly stated. I was going to compare _you_ and fucking with ice cream.” The confusion on his face makes me giddy with one-upmanship. Score one for me. I rush to continue so he can’t interrupt my fleeting moment of triumph. “If your brain isn’t too alcohol-addled, try to follow. Hypothetically, you like ice cream. In fact, you _love_ ice cream, particularly chocolate.”

      “Actually, I prefer vanilla,” he mumbles.

      I count to ten. “All right, let me rephrase it so there’s no misunderstanding. You love ice cream, particularly _vanilla_. It’s your favorite.”

      He flashes a lopsided grin. I want to hug him and smack him at the same time. He is so fucking frustrating!

     “However, there are times you want another flavor, just for something different. In fact, your mouth often waters for other flavors. So what do you do? You indulge yourself and taste as many as you can. That doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy vanilla ice cream anymore or that it still isn’t your favorite. You just like variety.”

      I don’t know if my words are reaching him or if he’s even listening. He’s had no reaction to anything I’ve said, not even a smirk, and hasn't looked up once. He just stares at the amber liquid in his glass.

      I really need to get my point across. “But _maybe_ it worries you to like vanilla as much as you do. You've always been an ‘equal flavor ice cream’ kind of guy. You liked them all. Never preferred one over another and sometimes even enjoyed two or three at the same time. So _maybe_ your craving for vanilla ice cream worries you, makes you wonder if something’s wrong with your taste buds. Have they become so accustomed to one flavor that they've lost their ability to enjoy the random sampling all flavors?” My mouth is like sandpaper. I keep swallowing against the dryness, but if I stop for a drink of water, I’ll never continue. And I have more to say.

     “Brian, you are who you are and you’re going to do what you’re going to do, regardless how I feel. I accepted that a long time ago. And believe it or not, I’m okay with it. But every time I start to feel even a little secure, that I might actually know what I’m doing, you throw me a curve, and I doubt myself again, doubt _us_.”

      My head throbs. One of the many side effects of the bashing are severe headaches. Thank God they're not as frequent. When I get them now, it’s usually because of stress. I press my palms against my temples to alleviate the pressure, but it won't help. I have to take my meds soon or I’ll be up for hours with the pain and so will he—because he always is.

      Summoning whatever energy I have left, I say the one thing that’s been eating at me most of all, gnawing at whatever hope I may have. “What I don’t understand is why you do things like last night, _deliberately_ , just to hurt me.”

_ "Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to see me cry?"_

BRIAN'S POV

      Such a simple statement, direct and to the point, with no wiggle room to evade an answer. At least, an honest one. He doesn’t seem distant or angry, just tired, disappointed, and in pain. I see it in his body language. Nothing I haven’t experienced with him before, but it's the first time because of me. The only exception is disappointment. That’s a given whenever I’m involved.

      His quiver of defeat does the trick. Strangling me with its intense hopelessness, it drives home what I’ve done. He thinks I haven’t been listening. He’s wrong. I’ve heard every word. I rifle through my index of “get out of jail free” excuses, searching for plausible explanations but none come to mind, none truthful, anyway. “I don’t...I didn’t do it to hurt you.” I can’t make my voice louder than a sad whisper.

      He raises a skeptical brow. Strands of blond hair flutter in the wake of an incredulous headshake. “Really? Wow! Then I’d hate to be on the receiving end if you _did_ intend to hurt me.”

      His scorn makes me flinch, but my anger bubbles up at the sarcasm  and pushes me over the edge. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know why!”  Shit! This is too hard.

      The minute his gaze snags mine, the loft shrinks to one-tenth its size. And so do I.                                   

     “Yes, you do,” he says simply, eyes glowing with an innate wisdom of Brian Kinney far beyond his years. Even more impressive, he received no help from me. His insight plunges a burning knife of fear into my frozen heart, and I shiver when its warmth starts to crack the ice. What the fuck am I doing?

      He deserves _something_. Definitely more than I’m capable of giving. I lock my eyes on his face and give a slight nod of admittance. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do. I hope he understands. I hope he doesn’t give up.

                              “I am seized with a deadly terror, a premonition that this man will capture and enslave.” _©Sacher-Masoch_

_*** * * ***_

**An uneasy discord fills me with heat and flushes me with uncertainty, Its fiery insistence ignites a jaded and frozen soul, and reminds me I am alive.**  
  
  
      Like a scene from a grade B movie, they stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, unwilling and unable to look away until Justin released the breath he had been holding with a whoosh.  
  
      The hypnotic connection broken, he turned his gaze to the street below, brushing a hand back and forth across the polished windowsill. The mindless diversion soothed his jittery nerves, allowing him to concentrate on the rhythm of his palm instead of the loft’s oppressive stillness.  
  
      He wondered about the random people who whizzed by in cars or scurried by foot on the rain-slick streets. Were they confused and scared when their hopes and dreams threatened to dissolve into thin air? Were they terrified when they didn’t know how or what to do to stop it?  
  
      He raised his head with a bleak sigh and saw Brian’s reflection in the splattered glass. Tracing the hard edges of his face on the chilled pane, he murmured in his best Bogart imitation, “Of all the guys in the world, I had to fall for you.”  
                                                                              

Brian’s stomach churned at the poignancy. However, old habits die hard. “Ain’t life grand!” But the tone betrayed his levity.  
  
      Mouth framed between a rueful smile and a hopeless frown, Justin nodded. “Yeah, yeah it is actually, most of the time.”

     “I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Time had never been Brian's friend. Its relentless tick-tock forward taught him an early lesson that would become the cornerstone of who he was—no apologies, no regrets. Because there were no do-overs, no rewind button to redo the past 24 hours. If he had one, he would have used it months ago on a night forever seared in his mind’s eye.

 

_“When I look upon my life, I’ve always been the one to blame._  
                                                         _Everything I’ve ever done, everything I ever do, no matter when or where or who_  
                                                         _Has one thing in common, too. It’s a sin.”    ©_ _Lowe/Tennant_

      He couldn’t change what was, couldn’t make a different decision even if he wanted to. And that was the crux of the matter. Would he, if he could? A couple of years ago, he would have said no fucking way. Now? He swept the question under the rug in his brain, refusing to acknowledge it. He couldn’t bear to hear his answer.

      While waiting for the ‘but’ to make an appearance, he lit a cigarette, drawing on it until the tip glowed like volcanic ash. As the acrid smoke burned its way into his lungs, the jagged edges of his nerves softened enough for him to exhale. Lips in a circle, he blew the perfect smoke ring and stared at the graceful spiral.  The welcome distraction didn’t last long.

       Justin couldn’t mask his sorrow, the invisible thread holding him together was stretched to the breaking point. “Here’s your ‘but,’ Brian. The other times, the times when I hurt so much because of something you said or did? They’re starting to overshadow the good ones. Sometimes I have trouble remembering them. I don’t want that. It’s not that I want the bad to disappear, I just don’t want to think of them first. ”

_“Gave you what I had and you tossed it in the trash, tossed it in the trash you did. To give me all your love is all I ever asked.”_ _©B.Mars_

      Hearing his own voice crack, he straightened his shoulders and took a steadying breath. If he wanted to be taken seriously, he couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t cry like a prissy faggot or beg like a jilted lover. He drew on his pent-up anger to give him strength to continue.

     “Why am I here, Brian?” Passion overwhelming reason, he snapped out his words like chewing gum, the rapid fire delivery clipped and sharp. “To accommodate or service you because there’s no one better around? I’m not a goddamn 7-Eleven! I’m a person and no matter how much you don't want to accept it, I care about you! Although after your stunt last night, I don’t know why!” Arms flailing in every direction, he disregarded a cautionary whisper that he might be digging himself a hole so deep he wouldn’t be able to climb out.

       Like an unstoppable force, thoughts tumbled from his lips faster than his brain could process. “I’m not a 24 hour fucking convenience store you go to in the middle of the night when you run out of milk or a back up generator when the power goes out or a—” Until they met an immovable object.

“Justin!”

       The thunderous tone bounced off the loft's walls like a projectile from a cannon. His eyes widened to a bewildered blue when he saw Brian's flushed and furious face, the rage as tangible as the man himself. He clamped his lips shut, biting the inside of his cheek in a herculean effort to say nothing. He wished he could commandeer a page from the Kinney handbook, put his emotions in a glass, and drink them away.

 

                                                                                      

       “I get it, okay?” Brian spat. “I’m a shit! Tell me something I don’t know! You more than made your point all evening with your fucking metaphors!”

       “I finally made a dent in that thick skull and didn’t even have to fuck to do it!”

        The hazel eyes narrowed in a silent warning. “Don’t fucking start!”

        Justin returned the glare. “Don’t start? Don’t _start?_ You’re the one who started it, Mr. Zucchini Man! Not me!” God, was it always going to be this way?

                                                                                        *** * * ***

 __**It’s not about meeting someone. It’s about finding someone and hoping when it happens, you’ll know the difference.**  
  
     “I have to piss.” Without another word, Brian turned on his heel and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door with a fury that threatened to remove it from its hinges. He hurried to the medicine cabinet, swallowed a handful of Advil like candy, and yanked open the buttons on his jeans, emptying his bladder with a relieved groan.  
  
         After filling the toilet with every last drop, he stared at his cock before tucking it back in. Semi-hard regardless of the time or place, it now hung dejectedly between his legs. When he flicked it with his index finger, it didn't budge. When he wrapped his hand around the thick flesh, it raised its head briefly but with obvious reluctance. “Et tu, Brute?” _This! This is my fucking life now!_  
  
         With a litany of curses, he washed his hands and splashed icy water on his face. Eyes squeezed shut, he slumped against the wall and waited for the Advil to throw out his mental drum corps. Reeling from the chaos that reigned in his analytical brain, he exhaled a frustrated burst of air. _He thinks I do these things on purpose, just to hurt him. I don't. He's the one person I— Fuck!_  
  
                                                                                        
  
         At the outset, Justin was a statistic, another notch on the Kinney fuck belt, albeit a very intriguing notch. And he succeeded where others had failed, boiling his blood with insatiable hunger. But in addition to igniting the firestorm of arousal, Justin’s goodness warmed him, his courage impressed him, and his maturity astounded him.  
  
                                                          _“Don’t ask me just how it happened. I wish I knew._  
                                           _I can’t believe that it’s happened. And still it’s true.”_ _©I.Berlin_  
  
         He couldn’t pinpoint when it happened. Was it when a gutsy seventeen year old virgin eagerly offered up his body, when a fearless young man stood up to his homophobic prick of a father, or when a smile brighter than the sun and eyes bluer than the sky lit up his insides on a ridiculously romantic, yet tragic night? Maybe it was all and none, not one particular moment but a combination of many, making him feel that what he couldn’t be or do on his own, he could with him, because of him.  
  
Like a cartoon character with a light bulb drawn over its head, he could no longer ignore the obvious. Realizing the _when_ didn’t matter, his body sagged in defeat. The only explanation for his bone-chilling ache went against everything he was, everything he believed in. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He’d fallen for him.  
                  
                                                                _“It was just a slight flirtation. That was all it was to be._  
_How could I know this fascination would turn to love for me?_ _©Lee/Mescoli_

                                                                                        *** * * ***  
         His mouth set in a thin line, Brian grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and opened them with enough force to send the tops skittering across the floor. He padded back cautiously, eager to set things right without too much concession or sacrifice. But he wasn’t hopeful. He gave one to Justin with the briefest of glances, unwilling to see the disappointed reproach in his eyes. He sank onto the sofa and rested his naked feet on the coffee table, the position making his frame appear even longer than its over six foot length. Tilting his head back against the plush leather cushions, the slender curve of his neck exposed a flawless expanse of skin that would make anyone’s mouth water, male or female.                                                                       

         Thirst quenched, he worried his lower lip between his teeth, uncertain how to navigate the unfamiliar territory he had vowed never to explore. “Okay. First, I admit the age thing freaks me out a little. I mean, I’m closer to thirty than you are to twenty and—”

        “Huh?”

 

        “Fine! Want me to say it? I _am_ thirty. Happy? Christ! Why is every one so obsessed with exactitude? It’s a fucking number!”

         Justin snorted his derision. “Says he who tried to scarf his way out of existence because of said fucking number!”

       “Whatever the fuck!”

        Their present situation and inexhaustible ability to go round in circles started to take its toll on Justin. How many rides were left on this merry-go-round before one of them jumped off? Overtaken with fatigue, he waved an impatient hand. “Forget your obsessive psychosis about age. We have more important things to work out, _if_ we can work them out.”

         He singsonged the mantra. “‘I'm not your lover. I'm not your partner. In and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.’ Got it. You’re going to fuck whoever and whenever you want.” His voice took on the confidence of a man twice his age, someone who could have been a guest speaker at a symposium because of his expertise. “Message received loud and clear. Believe it or not, it _has_ sunk in.”

         Despite his current tightrope walk, Brian had to suppress a grin at the image of a blond at a podium, giving a lecture, 'All You Ever Wanted to Know About Sucking Cock.' He envisioned the fun they could have with that scene, but he shoved the picture out of his head with a determined kick. He needed to deal with today first. Otherwise, there wouldn’t _be_ a tomorrow. He couldn’t afford any distractions, accidental or deliberate.

       “But to me," Justin went on, “it’s about degrees of behavior and the effects. For example, take drinking and drugging. You drink and drug a lot, but it doesn’t interfere with your work or personal life or whatever the fuck it is we have. If you wanted, you could stop. At least, I think you could.” He arched a brow and shot him an inquiring look. “You just choose not to. But if you couldn’t stop, you’d have an illness. You’d be an alcoholic or an addict, or God forbid, both.”

       “Your point being?”

       “Well, if I apply the same premise to you and fucking, everything changes.” He paused, his eyes narrowing with a glint. “You fuck a lot. Doesn’t matter who, when, where, or how. It’s not a question of stopping because even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. And it _is_ interfering, at least on my end, with whatever the fuck we have.” He waited for the explosion.

        Brian leaped to his feet like a panther. “What the fuck are you saying? Because I like to fuck I have an 'illness'? That—”

        _Ah, Mr. Kinney, you never fail not to surprise me_. “What it means,” he interrupted with a snicker, “is that you’re just being you.” He offered a half-hearted apology. “Sorry, bad joke. Look, I can deal with your conditions, most of them. But the longer we’re together, the harder it is for me to handle shit like last night. Christ, you might as well slap me in the face! Do you have any idea, do you even care, how I feel when you pull a stunt like that? I feel like you don’t care about me at all, not even as a friend, let alone ‘maybe’ something more. And then I start to question who you are and what you want from me, other than a fuck. And that makes me question myself and what I want from you. Don’t hurt me, Brian, because you’re fucked up. I don’t judge you because of it.”

                                                                                 

       “Then what _do_ you judge me for?”

        His eyes widened at the reproach. “What? I don’t! I never—”

       “You don’t do it openly. You’re too smart for that. The 1500 SAT score is good for something. No, you do it with innuendos and sideways looks. And you dangle your fucking pie-in-the-sky permanence in front of me whenever you get a chance, hoping I’ll take the bait. It doesn’t matter that it might not be what I want or that I ca—” Brian scrunched his eyes tight enough to see a kaleidoscope of dancing spots before re-opening them. “It’s what _you_ want. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

        Justin stared open-mouthed, railing against the despair that urged him to run and not look back. “I honestly don't know what I want from you. I just know I want more than I’ve been getting. You have a chance to be with someone who really lo—who really wants to be with you.”

        His skin tingled at an unexpected burst of anger. “But that’s too dull, too normal, isn’t it? And God forbid Brian Kinney should be normal! He does have his pride after all.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, and above all, let’s not forget his precious reputation as God’s gift to gay men everywhere! He has to stay on his Liberty Avenue cock throne and be King Fuck because dicks would just shrivel up and fall off if he abdicated!”

       Choked by the growing lump in his throat, he said, “You know what the sad thing is, Brian? You won’t even give yourself a chance to try. Because it fucking scares you! Because then you wouldn’t have an excuse to be the self-centered asshole you are! Now, if you’ll excuse me, _I_ have to piss!”

        He whirled around and headed to the bathroom, summoning whatever strength he had to keep his steps measured and his pace even. Once safely inside, he sank to the floor. Knees drawn up to his chest, he pillowed his head on his arms and allowed unshed tears to flow. How it was possible to love and curse a man in the same breath?

        Living in the loft was too distracting. Being near Brian was too distracting. He needed time alone to sort out his thoughts. After blowing his nose, he ran a washcloth over his face and came to a reluctant decision.   

                                                                                           *** * * ***

 _Don’t hurt me because you’re fucked up...you might as well slap me in the face...you don’t care about me at all...you won’t even give yourself a chance to try...it fucking scares you!_      
  
                                                                               [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/00047wkf/)  
       Frowning in concentration, Brian uneasily waited for Justin to return. The stinging words had caught him off guard. They reverberated in his head like a broken record, scattering his discipline like ashes in the wind. Was that really why he did it, why he felt like such a shit, why he felt so guilty? He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Explanations and excuses swimming in his brain, he couldn’t think of an answer or reason that didn’t sound like a lie, even to him. Because it would be a lie. _It’s only lying if they make you lie._ Yeah, right. Who the fuck was he kidding?  
  
        Fuck! He had done nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he hadn’t done thousands of times before. So why was a persistent inner voice berating him for his stupidity, nagging him with warnings of gloom and doom if he didn’t fix this? Obviously, Justin was pissed. But he didn’t issue any threats or give any ultimatums. He rubbed his neck and took a deep breath, exhaling the air with a curse. Of course not. He didn’t have to. It was in his eyes and on his face—if you want me, it’s up to you to make this right. And that made him want to down a handful of Xanax. He wondered if Justin realized his power.      
     
       He calculated his choices and narrowed them down to two: keep Justin or lose him. Both required sacrifice, but their outcomes were decidedly different. Gripped by a queasy pit-in-the-stomach panic, he quaked at the realization he couldn’t con his way out of this one. _  
  
                                                                               _ “To be or not to be. That is the question.”    
  
       He dragged himself from the sofa, refilled his glass, and drained it in swift gulps. Thrown off balance by an emotional seesaw that had him furious one minute, sad and frustrated the next, he couldn't focus. How the fuck did this happen? His chest heaved. He knew how. But could he accept it?  
  
Few men are ever really granted a vision of their fate, how our nature and our destiny have contrived together, as they must, to make a place for us, a place we’ve been marching toward all our lives. _©M.Merlis_                                                                 
                                                                                           ****      
  
       It hadn’t taken long, maybe ten minutes, before Justin reappeared wearing his jacket, hair slick and damp from frequent splatters of water. He trudged down the steps from the bedroom and relaxed his hold on the object in his hand, dropping it with a resounding thud. His eyes slightly swollen, he sniffled out an apology. “I’m sorry for some of the things I said.”    
  
     “You were upset.”     
  
     “I was. I am. But that’s no excuse.”      
  
      Brian shrugged. “Don’t worry. I didn’t take it personally.”     
  
     “I didn’t think you would,” he said through a clenched jaw. He debated whether to press the matter but decided against it. It wouldn’t solve anything. “It’s not just you, Brian, and it’s not about fault or blame. I was blinded by you. Still am. I’ve ignored so much, let so many things slide because I was afraid to lose you.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Not that there ever was a you for me to lose. But we play by different rules. You’re not going to change, and me? I’m willing to compromise but not as much as I’d have to for this to work.” He followed Brian’s gaze to the duffle bag on the floor. “I can’t stay here, not right now. I need some time to think. And I can’t do it here.”     
  
     “Have you been studying with Zen Ben now? Sorry for the news flash, but you’re not going to have some bullshit epiphany no matter where you are.”    
  
     “Don’t you think I know that? Whether you believe me or not, I’m not trying to push you into anything. But I want more than fucking. At the very least, I want to be respected. Do I want to be with you? More than anything. I want to have dinners and talk at night and wake up with you in the morning and—”  
      
     “See? You’re doing it again,” Brian accused. “All we need is a house in the country, a white picket fence, and a dog shitting on the lawn while we sit in our rockers on the porch and watch the world go by.”  
  
      When Justin made comments like that, as if his happiness and wide-eyed dreams rested solely with him, he felt claustrophobic, trapped by an intimacy that made his skin crawl. Regardless how much he wanted him to stay, he couldn’t deny the indisputable truth. Unless he changed, he’d fuck it up and lose him for good. He was already doing a bang-up job of driving him out the door and out of his life.     
  
     “It doesn’t have to be like that, Brian! It could be as hot and raunchy and filthy as we want it to. I just lo—” Justin stopped and cringed _. Way to go, idiot! You’re trying to keep him, not send him away running and screaming._      
  
      The air stifling, Brian felt the walls closing in. He eyed the bottle of Beam, wishing he could stay drunk until his body purged itself of this illness. Could he use 'not guilty by reason of Justin Fever' as a legal defense if convicted of a crime? He pressed a thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose to tap down the growing bubble of hysteria encouraging mayhem and mischief. “I know,” he whispered. But he couldn’t say the words. Didn’t know if he ever could. His eyes traveled to the bag. “Where are you going?”  
  
       Justin shrugged. “I’ll probably crash at Deb’s if she hasn’t already taken in another lost soul.”     
  
      “Will I see you around?” Christ! He sounded so pathetic.     
  
      “Yeah, you’ll see me.”      
  
       Like a droplet suspended in time, their words triggered a wisp of a memory in his subconscious _.  
  
                So, will I see you again?      
                Yeah, you’ll see me.      
                Well, don’t wait too long. At this rate who knows how long I’ll be around._     
  
        Without any fight left, Justin forced his feet to carry him toward the door. He yanked it open with a shaking hand and turned around, hoping for a last minute save. But the mask was already in place. With empty sadness, he walked out, willing himself not to stop.  
  
                                                                                   [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/00043r57/)      
  
      Brian flinched as the metal groaned in displeasure and slammed shut with a clang. His lips set in a tight line, he lit a joint and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before slowly exhaling. He snatched the half-full bottle of Beam from the bar and shuffled to the sofa, his bare feet sending miniscule particles of dust into the air. Left alone with his thoughts for company, the loft’s eerie stillness tortured him with his own words—my place is only big enough for one person and that’s me. The combination of pot and booze already working its magic _,_ he gave a giddy snort. _Be careful what you wish for, Kinney!_   After the last puff and final swallow, the noisy silence in his head disappeared. Lulled into a welcome state of chemically induced unconsciousness, he only surfaced when blond blue-eyed images flitted across his mind.  
                                                                                   [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/000447sh/) _  
  
_ “There’s only one man who makes me happy, who can keep learning the games we play as quickly as I can change them, whom I will not forgive for having come into my life, for having seen me and having said, ‘Yes, this will do.’” __©E.Albee, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?_                                                                                                  **  
**_

BRIAN’S POV          
  
         I don’t know how I feel. I guess empty would be a good word. Justin’s decision to leave shocked the hell out of me. It’s not that I thought he couldn’t. It’s that I thought he wouldn’t. He’s always been a strong little fucker, but I might have seriously underestimated him. It wouldn't be the first time, either.  
  
        I avoided Babylon and not because “getting your dick sucked can be so tedious,” as a sarcastic Honeycutt once said. I didn’t need to hear the tsk tsks, see the poor-Brian-he-had-it-coming looks. That’s why I’m at Woody’s, for peace and quiet—which I am not getting because GPS Debbie tracked me down.  
  
      “You want to be a self-centered son-of-a-bitch? Go right ahead! Don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself? Also fine! Don’t care what anyone thinks of you? That’s okay, too, but you wouldn’t have enough time to hear it all.”      
  
        Leave it to Mama Novotny to throw the zingers. Even with the relentless hammering in my head, I manage to keep my mouth shut with a few gulps of beer. Christ! No matter what I say or do lately, I’m the target of someone’s fury, including my own. Her nonstop Brian-bashing grates like crushed glass. I want to leave but I don’t want to go back to the empty loft yet. So I stay. And so does she.  
  
       “Keep Justin out of your private vendetta with yourself! Do you have any fucking idea how much he cares about you? Although, for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”  
  
       After tossing and turning the past couple of nights, I have more than an idea. But I don’t need to hear it said out loud.  
  
      “You owe him, asshole!”     
  
       My anger builds again. From that fateful night when the big bad wolf met Goldilocks under the street lamp, rational thought has been under attack by illogical judgment. I can’t stand it. My fingers tighten around the bottle. I have no desire to fight with her, but I won't be a verbal punching bag. I hear the strain in my voice to sound civil. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”  
  
      “I don’t believe you.”  
_**  
**_ “Well, you’re in for a big surprise because it’s true.”    
  
      “Hmm, sorry, I don’t. Wanna know why?”    
  
      “Even if I didn’t, you’d tell me anyway.” Her smug grin annoys the hell out of me, but what the fuck, I'll humor her. “So, Dr. Novotny, enlighten me. What did you learn from your get-a-psychology-degree-by-mail correspondence course?”    
  
      “Sticks and stones, jackass! Here it is, but I’m not sure you’re man enough to hear it, let alone do anything about it. That little persistent kid has somehow crawled under your barbed wire fence. You can convince yourself all you want that you don’t care. But you can’t fool me. I’ve known you too long and regrettably too well. You just don’t have the big hairy cojones to—“  
  
      “Maybe I could borrow yours.” She’s really getting on my one last nerve. _ **  
  
                                                                                         [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/00041tk6/)  
  
    **_   “Hey, whatever it takes—” She throws her knockout punch. “To admit that you love him, despite your efforts not to let another heart touch yours. Assuming, of course, Tin Man Kinney actually has a heart and it’s beating.”     
  
       It hurts to hear that. I hold her eyes but have to look away, suddenly fascinated by the label on my bottle. No point in playing dumb with her. I’m an expert at bullshit, but when it comes to digging below the surface, getting down and dirty in the smelly shit, I can’t do it. Remember when you had to take an exam that you didn’t study for? When you looked it over, you wanted to hurl because the son of a bitch who made up the test got inside your head. There wasn’t one fucking question you could answer. Bluff called, you were found out and exposed.  
  
“Don't say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I will no longer be the head and ruler of my universe.” _Anaïs Nin    _  
  
        It doesn't register that she’s getting ready to leave until she has her coat on. Considering my mood, I wouldn’t have acknowledged it anyway. She puts a hand on my arm, the gesture both comforting and annoying. Before I can say anything, she whispers in my ear, “You’re smart, Brian. Act smart. Tell him or you'll regret it your whole life." _ **  
  
                                                                                        [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/00042k5q/)  
                                                                             
                                                                                                        * * * * _  
 _**_                                                                                           “Tell me what you want.”  
                                                                                                      “You tell me what you’ve got. I’ll tell you what I want.”     
                                                                                                        In life you don’t get what you want, you get what you negotiate. ©B.M.Koltas      
  
        I’m on the catwalk watching him dance with someone other than me, watching him kiss someone other than me, and I’m possessed by a caveman urge to fling him over my shoulder and lock him away in the loft. I want him. If I didn’t get it before, I do now. My dick agrees with a twitch against my jeans. But I don’t know if I can do this. It’s insane. That makes me laugh because insanity and Justin go together in my life like bacon and eggs or cock and ass. I’m not sure I have or can find inside what he needs in order to keep him. Because one more situation like this and I won’t have to do anything. He’ll already be gone. Why wouldn’t he? But I’m not a fucking coward. I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I’m not about to start now.  
  
        Time for me to 'shit or get off the pot' as my old man used to say. Jack had such a tender way with words, a real Hallmark kind of dad. _Man up! Real men don’t take shit from_ _no one._ With Deb’s velvet tones ringing in my ear, I head downstairs to 'man up.'        
                                                   
        Elbowing through half naked, sweaty bodies, I brush off the blatant invitations. Not interested. I glare at my very temporary, rather ordinary looking replacement. “Fuck off!” The words leave my mouth like a primitive growl. Subtlety has never been one of my strong points. He gets the message and hands raised in surrender, dances off.  
  
       “What are you doing?” His eyes are wide as saucers.  
  
        He’s shocked that I’m here. Join the club, Sunshine. I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I took you in because you took a bat to the head.”  
  
       “Brian, I—“    
  
       “Hang on. I only have so much courage. But that’s not the reason I want you to stay.”   _ **  
  
       **_ “Then why do you?” His tone is bitter. “You made it quite evident you don’t care.”    
  
        I wrack my brain for an answer. “Really? Where’s that evidence?”    
  
        He stares at me as if I have two heads. I don’t blame him. I would, too. A wary expression darkens his face with suspicion. “Are you only doing this because of what happened?” He adds with snark, “because of what you did?”      

         I have to give the kid credit. He learns fast. I study him for weakness but come up empty. Big surprise. He knows what he wants. I see his longing. I almost hear it, like a brake grinding on a drum. Looking at him with new respect, I shake my head. “No. Yes. Maybe.” Shit!  
  
       “Which is it?” He seems half amused, half curious.    
  
       “Any? All? Christ, you’re being a hard-ass about this!”      
  
        He snickers. “You used to love my hard ass.”    
  
       “I loved your soft perfectly shaped ass.” Fuck! I want to take him right here on the dance floor. “I still do.” I whisper the last three words in his ear, thrilled when his breath hitches.      
  
        After clearing his throat, he reminds me, “You still haven’t answered my question.”     
  
        Deb was right. If nothing else, he’s persistent. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”    
  
       “Should I?”      
  
       The hell with it. I can’t think of anything to say other than the truth. Funny thing, it’s all I want to say. “Because I like having you.” I blurt out. Okay, that didn’t come out the way I intended and throw in, “in the loft.” Fuck! Neither did that. This is why I don’t do whatever the fuck it is that we have. My hands clench into fists. “Because I like having you stay in the loft with me.” Much better.     
  
        The knot in my stomach dissolves enough for me to crack, “And I do also like having you in the loft or anywhere else for that matter.” Now that I’m on more familiar ground, I allow myself a knowing grin when his cheeks flush and his eyes lower.     
  
        As much as I want this to be over, I have more to say and use my best take-no-prisoners voice to warn him. “But don’t get any crazy ideas in your head. We’re not like straight people marching down the aisle in matching Vera Wangs.” Christ! What the fuck am I doing? A bead of sweat trickles down my back. “If we’re ‘together’”—I can’t stop a groan at the word. I hope he didn’t hear it—“it’s because we want to be, not because of guilt or misguided loyalty.” I take a much-needed breath, the intake of air like sandpaper in my parched throat. Any time now, Justin! Feel free to jump in and help out.    
  
        He’s gonna make me sweat. Little shit. “And I’m still going to fuck. So if I’m out at night without you, I’m probably fucking. But it won’t mean anything because like you said, it’s just me being me.”  
  
        The naked hope on his face kicks me in the gut and I want to give him something. “And when I come home, I’ll be coming home to you. Not because I have to, but because I want to. It’s the best I can do.” _ **  
  
                                                                                        [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/00045t1a/)  
  
  **_“You are the sunshine of my life._ _That’s why I’ll always stay around._ _You must have known that I was lonely because you came to my rescue._ _And I know this must be heaven.__ _How could so much love be inside of you?”_ _©S.Wonder_ **  
  
** JUSTIN’S POV          
  
       I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe what he said. I didn’t, I never...fuck! I can’t think straight when we’re this close. The heat radiating from him leaps across the small space between us. I shiver because I burn. This is why I had to leave. I had to get away from his influence, emotional and physical. It's been hell, but I’m glad I did it. It gave me a chance to look at us with a more objective eye. And I learned something about me. Although I have a lot to deal with and sometimes screw things up, I like myself. I won’t be anyone’s doormat, not even Brian’s.    
  
       I thought he’d be glad to be rid of his stalker. The term never bothered me. I knew I had to go after him. His pride would never let him go after me. He's seems different or am I only seeing what I want to see? Am I over-emphasizing my importance in his life by thinking he misses me, at least a little? I mean, he never does anything he doesn’t want to do. So why is he here? What changed?  
  
                               _“Well I had to follow you, though you didn’t want me to. But that won’t stop my loving you. I can’t stay away.”_ _ ©B/R/M Gibb   _   
  
       A chill rolls through me again, but this time out of fear. I could kick myself. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I had to give him a mouthful of rules. I want some things, too. I had to keep pushing even though for him, he did the unimaginable. For me. _ **  
  
                                                                                       [](http://pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/pic/0004646a/)  
  
**_       One more thing. You don’t kiss anyone else on the mouth but me. Fuck! I may have blown it with the last one, trying so hard to prove that I’m not going to take any more of his shit if I come back. But just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t want to return.     
  
       I’m scared he’s having second thoughts. He pinches his lower lip between his teeth, not a good sign, and suddenly looks away, breaking the connection. Oh God, maybe he thinks I’m not worth the effort. Maybe he’s going to walk away and say, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”   
  
       My heart is racing so fast I can hardly breathe. The stress of the past few days pounds against my skull, demanding to get out. And there’s only one way. Feeling as if the fate of the universe hangs on his answer, I choke out, “Do we have an understanding?”     
  
       It’s only a few seconds, but I age years. He gives a small nod and sighs. “I guess we’re ok.”  
  
       Too exhausted to hide the relief, I can't speak. When he covers my lips with his to seal the agreement, I get lightheaded, grateful for his arm around my waist. He breaks the kiss and I moan the loss.  
  
       But then he murmurs, “Let’s go home.”    

                                                                                                        *** * * ***

       Brian half-pushed, half-dragged Justin through Babylon with a look so intimidating it could have parted the Red Sea. Instead, it created a narrow path on the dance floor, allowing them to leave unimpeded. Everyone knew better than to fuck with Brian Kinney.  
  
       The Jeep's engine roared to life. They peeled away, tires squealing, and sped to the loft in a highly charged silence permeated with sex. With a white-knuckled grip on the door handle, Justin prayed there wasn't a cop around when they ran a red light. His nerves were already stretched to the breaking point. The right hand squeezing the flesh on his thigh didn't help. They screeched to a halt in front of the building. He was still struggling to unlock his seat belt when the passenger door swung open. Brian swiped his hands away in impatience and freed him with a flick of his wrist.  
  
        Before he could process what was happening, Brian had him pinned against the wall, grinding their erections together. Strong fingers grasped his jaw to hold him in place, and a predatory tongue circled his mouth demanding access. The kiss was deep and hungry as they rediscovered what they had almost lost.  
  
        In between ragged breaths, Brian maneuvered them to the bedroom and with a magician’s sleight of hand, removed their clothes. Propped up on extended arms, he hovered above Justin on the bed and stared into his eyes before covering him with his body.  
  
        Justin gasped at the skin to skin contact. He loved the feel of Brian on top of him, long and lean with supple muscle, like a warrier on the verge of conquest. His blood pulsed in a primal rhythm. He needed to be taken, to be claimed. All that he was, was Brian’s to take.  
  
       Pressed against the eager ass, Brian gave a gentle push and breached the first ring of muscle. “Jesus! You’re so fucking tight!”  
  
       A groan fell from Justin’s lips at the exquisite pain.  
  
     “You okay?”  
  
     “Yeah. Do it.”  
  
      Inch by torturous inch, he slid into the tight channel until fully buried. Pausing to luxuriate in the heat around his cock, he vowed never to take this for granted. He eased out and started a leisurely in and out glide.  
  
      Justin met every stroke, arching up in frustration at the maddening pace. Balls heavy with the need to come, he begged for what he craved. “Fucking fuck me!”  
  
      The words surged through Brian like an electric current. “Hang on.” His relentless rhythm bent Justin almost in two, jabbing his prostate with unerring accuracy.  
  
       Their unraveling was fast and furious. Justin’s orgasm tore through him with blazing speed. “Fuck! Fu—” Toes curling, he stiffened and spurted between them, losing himself in the mindless ecstasy.  
  
       The spasms around his dick destroyed Brian's last shred of control. He surrendered with one final thrust, spilling his release into the condom. When he had the strength to move, he planted a kiss on the tip of Justin's nose and brushed strands of damp hair from his forehead.  
  
       Without any desire for his usual post-coital smoke, he eased onto his side and pulled Justin close, molding him to his body. He realized with a resigned sigh that they were actually spooning. Even more shocking, the thought wasn’t momentous enough to stop him from feathering kisses on his neck and trailing a hand down his arm, into the curve of his waist, and the swell of his hip.  
  
      “Brian?”  
  
      “Yeah?”  
  
      “I’m glad to be _home_.” Justin clung to the arms that held him securely with one wish. _If only he would never let me go._  
  
      “Me, too.” Brian tightened his grip. He contemplated how empty his life would be when Justin left. And he would. He had no doubt. But now, he would live each day to the fullest, grateful for another chance.  
  
                           **“Every man is afraid of something. That’s how you know he’s in love with you; when he is afraid of losing you.” Sven Eriksson**                                             
  
  
                                                                                     THE END  
                                    


End file.
